


into joy i’m sailing

by hereforlou



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Insecure Harry, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:28:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23396272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereforlou/pseuds/hereforlou
Summary: There was only one reason why Harry hadn’t given Louis a key to his place by the time they had been dating for a full year, and that reason was made of white lace and stopped around mid-thigh when Harry wore it, though it had looked a little longer on the mannequin.(Or, the one where Harry’s wearing a dress but he didn’t mean to.)
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 27
Kudos: 478





	into joy i’m sailing

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much Nic for betaing and for always being the best <3
> 
> Title from George Harrison's _Soft Touch._
> 
> Here's a [Tumblr](https://hereforlou.tumblr.com/post/614032108705529856/into-joy-im-sailing-complete-5k-there-was-only) post.

It was the first time Harry was going to be celebrating an anniversary and he was a little nervous about it. Maybe more than a little, but most of his nerves were due to the stress of everything he had to get ready and not, like, commitment anxiety, so it was fine. There was nothing that made Harry nervous about dating Louis for a whole entire year. If anything, it made their relationship feel solid and Harry feel secure and like he could make plans without wondering where he’d be a few months down the line. He’d never quite gotten to that point with other boyfriends before, and so far it felt pretty wonderful.

They had decided to stay in on the day, since it was a weekday and both had to get up early the following morning, choosing to go out on the weekend instead. For their actual anniversary, Harry wanted to cook a nice dinner, drink some wine and have lengthy anniversary sex — though maybe not exactly in that order, since Harry was planning on getting throughly fucked by his long-term boyfriend and a full belly would be counterproductive. So he had chosen a menu they didn’t need to eat right away so he could prepare it early and serve it whenever they felt like it. Hopefully after a few orgasms. 

He had everything planned: home from work by five, dinner in the oven by six-fifteen at most, then a shower and Louis ringing his doorbell by seven. 

All was going on schedule until Harry was standing under the shower spray, and he suddenly thought that even though he’d never had one-year-anniversary sex before, he was hoping they would get at least a little creative due to the special ocassion, so he should be  _ extra _ thorough. That’s pretty much how he lost track of time. 

It was much later when he snapped out of his thoughts and blinked water out of his eyes, feeling a little dizzy from the steam and his own fingers. He stepped out of the shower and gave himself a quick rub with a towel before rushing to his room and throwing on a fresh pair of pants and whatever piece of clothing he’d left on the back of a chair that morning — he’d get changed into his actual outfit after checking on dinner. 

Then, though, Harry realised he’d set the oven a little warmer than he was supposed to. He smelled something burning as soon as he stepped into the little hallway connecting his room with the rest of his flat. 

His mum always told him never to leave food cooking unsupervised and Harry sent her a silent apology as he turned the heat down on the oven and, since he was already there, started chopping the vegetables he’d set on the counter earlier. He wasn’t sure what time it was, but his shower had definitely ran longer than he’d intended, so he moved as fast as he could, mentally going over what still needed to be done (set the table, change the sheets on his bed, sort out his hair, which was currently dripping down his back). 

A flutter of nerves settled low in his belly again — he didn’t even want to check the clock hanging over the table. He worked mostly on autopilot, repeating his little to-do list in his head as he put a salad together, wondering if Louis had left work on time, if they’d ever even get to eat dinner before falling over each other, if Louis would like his present — the key Harry had wrapped in a tiny little package and hidden in his room weeks ago.

He still had to tidy up his room.

Something beeped to his left — the oven timer — and he went to check it and slipped on a puddle of water his hair had made behind him. He skidded along the tile (his mum always told him not to go into the kitchen barefoot, too), caught himself on the counter and nearly cut his fingers off with the knife in his hand. The doorbell rang at exactly the same time. 

Heart pounding, Harry put the knife on the cutting board and stood straight. He had enough sense to turn the oven all the way off before walking towards the front door on shaky legs, mind reeling. He’d been this close to having to spend his first ever anniversary at A&E. That was not the kind of memorable he wanted the night to be.

Louis was standing on the other side of the door, looking about a million times more put together than Harry felt. He’d obviously gone home to change after work, Harry could tell, and he was holding a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Harry’s heart started pounding again, for a completely different reason. 

“A bit cliché, but it  _ is _ your first,” Louis said and leaned in to kiss Harry hello. He smelled like the cologne Harry had gotten him for his birthday. “Got you chocolates as well.”

Harry smiled as he kissed back, the butterflies that seemed to have taken permanent residence in his stomach ever since he met Louis suddenly waking up and chasing his nerves away. He didn’t care if he messed up dinner anymore, or if his room was a tip. Louis’d never cared before, he wouldn’t care that night either.

“Happy anniversary,” Harry said, smiling like a dope and leaning in for another kiss, deeper and longer, the door still open and Louis still half outside.

“Happy anniversary,” Louis pressed into Harry’s mouth. “Gonna let me in?”

Harry dragged him in by his jacket, stumbling a bit as he walked backwards, and felt the warmth of Louis’ palm on his side as he steadied him. 

“Smells good here,” Louis said, thumb rubbing Harry’s hip. “You had time to make dinner?”

“Just barely,” Harry told him, taking the flowers from Louis and grabbing his hand to walk back to the kitchen, pausing only so Louis could kick off his shoes and drop his bag. “But I didn’t want to order in.”

“Sound decision; it smells amazing.”

Harry smiled harder, and gave Louis’ hand a squeeze 

“Want me to set the table?” Louis asked, already slipping away to grab plates from the cupboard. All thoughts of having dinner  _ after _ vanished from Harry’s head as he watched Louis maneuver around Harry’s furniture in his cramped little flat. He wanted to have this every night. He wanted Louis to come and go as he pleased, to move all his stuff in, take up half of Harry’s tiny wardrobe and make a mess of his bathroom counter. He couldn’t wait to give Louis his present.

He found a vase for the flowers as Louis reached for wine glasses on a shelf, perfectly familiar with where everything he needed was stored. Smiling again, Harry turned to the abandoned salad next to the sink when he caught his reflection on the dark kitchen window and felt the bottom fall out of his stomach, body going hot from his toes up to the roots of his hair in a sickening lurch. 

There was only one reason why Harry hadn’t given Louis a key to his place by the time they had been dating for a full year, and that reason was made of white lace and stopped around mid-thigh when Harry wore it, though it had looked a little longer on the mannequin. The fabric was soft inside, and the sleeves were short and a little too tight around Harry’s biceps originally (though he’d made a few alterations to them with a pair of kitchen scissors before trying it on for the first time). All in all, it felt almost the same as one of his oversized t-shirts, only a tiny bit more cinched around the waist, the pattern a little nicer.

The first time he’d looked at himself in the mirror wearing it, he had turned away almost instantly and pulled it off so quickly he was surprised he hadn’t ripped any of the delicate seams. He looked ridiculous, he thought. With stubble on his face, arms that had barely fit through the sleeves and legs far from smooth and hairless, he’d felt like a joke. It wasn’t the same as a big shirt at all. It was obviously not made for him, which was always something that had baffled him as a kid — how there were clothes for girls and clothes for boys and it was okay for girls to wear trousers but silly for boys to want to try on skirts and dresses, even if it was just to see what it was like.

The second time he tried it on, he stayed well away from the mirror and tried to focus on how it felt instead of what it looked like. It was light, and the hem brushed against his legs when he moved, it lifted when he turned, it hitched up even more when he sat down. It was comfortable, and, in his head at least, it was pretty. The gentle pressure around his waist from the cut was a constant reminder of what he was actually wearing, and it gave him a little thrill every time the fabric pulled a certain way, or every time he lifted his arms and felt the way he was left nearly exposed.

He didn’t wear the dress everyday, but he wore it often. It was nice to shed his work clothes in the evenings and put on something different and pretty, even if it was only to sit on the couch and eat crisps in front of the telly. Which was what he’d done the night before, hence why the dress had still been sitting out and why Harry had apparently grabbed it earlier in his panic.

Frozen in place, Harry had stopped breathing. 

He never meant for Louis to see him like this, especially without warning. He knew he looked odd — not only was he wearing a dress, but it was the wrong size and it was cut up in places to fit better and it made Harry’s hands and feet seem bigger somehow, his back broader. He could see himself now, reflected in the kitchen window, and the sight sent an apprehensive pang to his chest. 

“Alright, babe?” Louis asked, suddenly right next to him, putting a hand on the dip of his waist as he circled around Harry to open the cutlery drawer, wrinkling the thin fabric there. 

Harry could only nod and woodenly move out of the way. He went to the counter and stood in front of his half-done salad and felt the stupid urge to cry. He blinked a couple of times to stop himself. 

Maybe Harry could slip away to his room and change, pretend nothing had ever happened. Louis wouldn’t mention it, and they would go on as they were — two perfectly ordinary boys celebrating their one year anniversary like perfectly ordinary boys did.

Harry remained where he was.

Louis hadn’t said anything. He was acting as if everything was normal. He hadn’t even stared, hadn’t asked, hadn’t acted any different than usual. Harry sent him a careful look over his shoulder, hunched in on himself, and saw Louis setting forks and knives on the table. He’d taken his jacket off when Harry wasn’t paying attention and he was wearing Harry’s favourite jumper of his, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. This great swell of affection seemed to fill Harry’s chest, making his throat go tight with tears again, and he looked back down at the salad. He swallowed, and took a breath.

Then, his hands shaking, he picked up the knife and continued chopping.

Over by the table, Louis was talking about something that had happened to him on the way to Harry’s flat — he lived nearly all the way across the city, had to change subway lines twice — and Harry barely listened. He was trying not to mentally catalogue everything about the way he knew he looked. His hair was definitely drying funny, and he hadn’t shaved his face since the morning before; had been planning on doing it after his shower. He didn’t think he’d even managed to put deodorant on. 

This was definitely not how he had planned his first anniversary dinner to go. He was meant to be more prepared than this, not caught off guard due to his own carelessness. He was supposed to be naked by now, with Louis’ tongue in places it didn’t normally venture, not scared out of his mind Louis was about to make up an excuse to leave. 

Louis, though, was too absorbed in his story about his commute to Harry’s flat to look like he was planning on fleeing, so Harry put the salad on a fancier bowl, seasoned it, and went over to the table. Louis looked up at him with a smile that fell away as soon as their eyes met.

“You okay, love?”

Harry couldn’t control his own wonky smile at the endearment, neck heating up as he nodded. He put the bowl down with trembling hands, and then turned quickly away before Louis could see. 

“Need help?”

“No, um, just getting the chicken,” Harry called back.

“Want me to open some wine?” 

“Yeah, sounds good,” Harry replied, trying to make his voice come out normal but still hearing the strain there. He slipped on an oven mitt shaped like a dinosaur (part of Louis’ two-month anniversary present the year before) and took the pan out of the oven. The chicken smelled a little singed, but whether they ate it warm or cold, Harry knew it’d be good. He left the pan on the stove and walked towards the sink, stalling for time. Behind him, he heard Louis moving around, the soft fall of his feet on the carpet, and then there was a gentle hand on Harry’s back, rubbing between his shoulder blades.

“Alright, sweetheart?” Louis asked, leaning against Harry as he reached for the corkscrew on the shelf above Harry’s head. 

“Yes, of course,” Harry said. The scent of Louis’ cologne was strong in his nose again, making him want to burrow against him and inhale as deeply as he could. 

Louis beat him to it, tucking his face into Harry’s neck even though Harry probably smelled like nervous sweat. Still, he nuzzled under Harry’s jaw, kissed under his ear and murmured, “You look lovely, you know.”

Harry felt his legs give out before he got a grip on himself, swaying in place for a second and bracing himself on the counter to keep upright. Louis pressed closer.

“You do,” he said against Harry’s skin. “Really lovely.” 

Harry didn’t know what to say. His heart was pounding, his entire body hot and thrumming with nerves and relief and something else. His belly had gone hot and tight, and he shuddered when he felt the fabric of Louis’ trousers against his bare legs. 

“I didn’t know,” Louis said, kissing along Harry’s throat, pressing against Harry’s side. “Thanks for showing me.”

Harry huffed out a weak laugh, gipping the counter, pinned in place.

“It was an accident,” he said, unable to play along and lie about it when he was so nervous still he was sure he’d fall to the floor without Louis there to hold him.

_ “Mmh?” _ Louis looked up, blue eyes mostly pupil. 

“I didn’t mean to show you,” Harry said softly, and Louis pulled further back. “It was an accident.”

Louis went to step away, eyes wide, but Harry stopped him, grabbed at his waist and pulled him in again. 

“You think it looks good?”

“Haz, I—”

“Lou,” Harry said, heart honestly about to jump out of his chest. 

“Do you want to change out of it?” Louis asked him. Harry chewed on his lip, trying to decipher Louis’ expression. He looked a bit mortified, but his hands were still soft on Harry’s hips. He still looked at Harry like he’d done from the start.

“No,” Harry said. “Does it look bad?”

“No!” Louis’ fingers gripped tighter, thumbs digging in. “You look lovely, didn’t I say?”

Harry smiled, “Yeah, you did say,” and leaned in for a kiss. He meant for it to be a short peck, but as soon as their lips met he felt Louis inhale and pull him in closer, felt him opening his mouth to kiss him deeper. 

Harry managed to rip his hands off the counter and to get his arms around Louis’ back, wanting to press close, kissing him wet and a little desperate, feeling weirdly small wearing so little. Louis’ hands went up and down his sides, bunching up the fabric of Harry’s dress, exposing a little more of his thighs every time. 

Somehow Louis turned them around, walked them back to the table without letting go. Harry stumbled backwards, unable to help the little noises he made every time Louis licked into his mouth, or pulled on his lip with his teeth. 

Then the backs of his knees hit something, and Harry yelped as he stumbled down onto a chair. 

He looked up at Louis, whose face was flushed and whose lips looked swollen, and felt so in love he wasn’t sure his body would be able to hold it all in. He couldn't believe he’d been afraid to tell him something that seemed so silly now.

Well, not silly, but certainly not something that would make Louis look at him weird. 

“Does it,” Harry began, and had to swallow to continue, “Does it look pretty?”

“I think you look gorgeous in anything,” Louis said, hands framing Harry’s face. “But yeah, it looks very pretty on you.”

Something warm and pleasant spread down to Harry’s toes and he sagged a little in his seat, thighs falling open. He saw Louis’ eyes drop to his lap before they dragged back up to his face. 

“You don’t think you look pretty?” he asked, always strangely attuned to Harry's thoughts. 

Harry shrugged and tried to pull him down for another kiss, but Louis held back.

“Haz,” he said, “can I ask… why do you wear it?”

Harry didn’t want to analyse his choices at the moment, not when he wasn’t even sure what had possessed him in the first place. He just wanted his schedule to be back on track. 

“It looked nice in the store,” he said, and managed to pull Louis down to his knees in front of him. He leaned down and kissed him again.

Louis allowed it for a moment before he pulled away.

“Harry, tell me, do you get off wearing it? Is that why?”

There was no denying Harry felt good wearing the dress, good enough he’d gotten hard a couple of times just putting it on and doing stuff around the flat. But he’d never actually gotten off — he just enjoyed having it on and picturing how he must look. 

“No, no, it’s not about, about sex,” he managed, fiddling with Louis’ collar and kepping his eyes fixed on a point over Louis’ head. “I just sit around in it. It’s, it’s just nice.”

“Is it the only one?” Harry nodded. “Did you get it before we got together?” Harry hesitated, and then shook his head. 

“Got it a couple of months ago. After we went shopping with your sisters.”

“Oh,” Louis sat back on his heels and Harry’s hands fell away. Suddenly, he was scared again. “Were you embarrassed to let me see? Or was it just, um, private?”

Harry grimaced, guilty.

“Embarrassed,” he admitted, and the moment he said it he realised how ridiculous it was.

“You wear them clips in your hair sometimes,” Louis said gently. “And your nails. I dunno, I don’t think it’s… I’m not  _ shocked _ , if that’s what you were expecting.”

“I know,” Harry said.

“And I really do think it looks good. It’s a bit unfair, actually, that you look good in anything.”

“I don’t,” Harry laughed. “It’s a pretty dress.”

“A pretty dress on a pretty boy,” Louis said, and then paused. He put his hands on Harry’s knees. “Right?”

Flustered, Harry didn’t know what to say, he didn’t even know which part Louis was trying to clarify. So he nodded, flushed down his chest and up to his ears, and Louis nodded back and slid his hands up Harry’s thighs. 

His fingers slipped underneath the hem of the dress and Harry automatically spread his legs.

“Are you wearing panties, too?” Louis asked, and his tone had Harry trembling all over again, but not with nerves this time. He was wearing briefs, and Louis could probably see them from where he was kneeling, but Harry got the feeling Louis was asking something else entirely.

“No,” he said. And then, “I don’t know.”

“That’s alright,” replied Louis, smiling, his expression soft. “Can I take a closer look?”

Harry nodded, hands curled around the edge of his seat, and watched Louis shift closer. He pushed Harry’s legs open wider, his hands traveling further up, until his fingertips grazed Harry’s underwear. 

Harry’s cock twitched, and then his hips jumped when Louis kissed his inner thigh, not stopping at one but trailing kiss after kiss until his head was hidden under Harry’s skirt.

Something about seeing Louis with his face buried under Harry’s dress made him a little crazy, and that, plus Louis’ breath hitting the damp cloth covering his dick had Harry slumping in his chair, a wanton groan climbing up his chest.

He felt Louis mouthing at him through his briefs, felt himself grow hard quickly, confined in stretchy cotton, stomach tight and toes curled into the carpet. Louis used his tongue, licked a wide stripe up Harry’s length, and one of Harry’s hands flew to hold his head down. Except instead of burying his fingers in Louis’ silky hair, his palm touched lace, and the feeling of Louis under the fabric made Harry’s blood rush towards his cock. 

He moaned when Louis licked him again, cock now hard enough to hurt inside his underwear, but still held Louis against him. He wanted to thrash, but the chair was small and the dress was already pulling on all its tight spots. Instead, he slid down his seat, spread his legs as much as he could, one hand holding onto the table and the other feeling Louis’ head move.

The new position left his arse hanging off the chair, and Louis took advantage of it and curled his fingers around the elastic of Harry’s pants, pulled it back and down, so that his dick could pop free. Then he slid Harry’s briefs down his legs, unhooked them from one of his ankles but didn’t bother with the other one, since he was already too busy swallowing Harry down. 

Harry nearly slid to the floor, but he gripped the edge of the table, thighs tense with the effort to stay where he was, and panted up at the ceiling. He caressed Louis’ head through the dress as he bobbed up and down, Harry’s cock wet and warm in his mouth, Louis’ lips tightening on every upstroke. Louis' hands were on Harry’s belly under the dress, thumbs pressing near the base of his cock, holding him in place. 

When Harry looked down, there was a disorienting moment when he couldn’t see anything that he was feeling. He could feel Louis sucking him off, could feel him drooling down his shaft, elbows resting on his thighs, hands rubbing and pushing down, but could only see the shape of his head under white lace, and then his shoulders curving as he kneeled over Harry’s lap, sweat making his shirt stick to his back. Harry couldn’t see his face, but he could feel him, and he could hear the wet, filthy sounds of what he was doing underneath his own laboured breathing, and he nearly sobbed trying to hold back to delay the inevitable. 

When Louis slipped off, Harry whimpered, feeling Louis’ fingers curl around his cock instead, his mouth open against his hip. Louis loved sucking little bruises wherever his mouth happened to land on Harry, and Harry loved the sting of them, loved finding little marks everywhere afterwards. 

He whined when Louis’ hand didn’t move, only held him, and whined when Louis nipped him for whining. Louis’ other hand was moving slowly along the ridge where Harry’s thigh began, thumb teasing to slide down and under his balls. Anticipation made Harry tense, but then Louis seemed to change his mind and he sucked him down again, once, before sliding his mouth to the crown of Harry’s cock and giving it all his attention. 

Harry’s grip went almost vice-like. He grabbed at fabric and probably hair underneath and tried to buck up, but Louis was holding him in place, lickng and sucking and making little humming noises that reverberated all the way down to Harry’s toes. His balls tightened, and he felt the tell-tale stretch in his groin, that feeling of tension before the snap.

“Louis,”he gasped. “Lou, fuck,  _ Lou,” _ he kept mumblig desperately, legs restless, and then Louis’ togue flattened on the underside of his cock, sucking as he grabbed him in his fist and stroked, and Harry came with a garbled cry, damp hair in his eyes and muscles locked tight.

His vision went white, and he couldn't stop whimpering as Louis jerked him though it, letting Harry come in his mouth until he was spent. He felt Louis move away after a moment, felt his cock flop back between his legs, and an unpleasant chill when Louis lifted his head out of his skirt. 

Harry had to give himself a moment before he dared to look down. 

Louis’s face was drenched in sweat, cheeks alight and hair sticking up and pointing in every direction. His mouth looked obscene, his lips looked sticky and red and puffy and Harry’s cock jumped at the sight. He let out another little whimper because he was quite sore, and tried to get his hands to work. 

His fingers were stiff from holding on to both the table and Louis’ head the whole time, and he felt clumsy reaching out to touch Louis’ cheek. 

Louis tilted his face against the touch. 

“You look so pretty, darling,” he told Harry, voice a bit of a wreck, and Harry gave up his battle against gravity and let himself drop to the floor. He crowded against Louis and kissed all over his face, kissed his damp forehead, his warm cheeks and his sticky lips. He wanted to curl up in Louis’ lap and call it a night, but he’d planned other activities for the occasion, and now that he knew that his choice of lounge attire (as he would be calling it for now) wouldn't be a problem, he didn’t see why they couldn’t go along with Harry’s schedule. 

“Don’t want you to come,” he said against Louis’ mouth. 

“Um,” Louis mumbled back, shifting his seat. “Ever or….”

“Yet,” Harry clarified. “I want you to fuck me, and other stuff.”

“Other stuff?”

“I took a really long shower,” Harry said, too blissed out to feel embarrassed about anything anymore. “And I want to do whatever you want, too.”

“I want whatever you want,” Louis said, and kissed Harry properly, pushing close, mouth plump and soft. They kissed for a long time. Long enough that Harry migrated to Louis’ lap, and Louis’ hands travelled back under Harry’s dress, squeezing his thighs and his bum until Harry started to get hard again. 

Then they moved to the bedroom, and Harry got distracted giving Louis his present (the key to his flat along with all its implications) and Louis asked if it was okay if Harry took the dress off, because he didn’t want to ruin it any further. Harry lifted his arms and let Louis carefully pull it off of him. 

He didn’t feel any less pretty without it.


End file.
